


Drive

by Filthycasual



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anticipation, Art, Desire, Erotica, Family Secrets, GorZsasz - Freeform, Gotham fanart, Illustrations, Longing, M/M, Past secrets, Sex, Stalker, Trapped, affair, dirty secrets, erotic art, flirtation, homoerotic art, illustrated genitals, pornographic art, sexual art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20720099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filthycasual/pseuds/Filthycasual
Summary: After fulfilling his promise to return Mario alive, Jim Gordon receives a dinner invitation from Don Falcone. However, this comes on the eve of a huge snow storm. With the entirety of the night snowed in the Falcone estate, Jim has no choice, but to face a hidden secret about his father.





	1. Nothing's Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HistoryISculture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoryISculture/gifts).

> WOW so I need to watch where I click for now on. I accidentally deleted the entire work. So I'm bummed out. =( Sorry HistorISCulture I need to make sure I don't just click furiously on things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After fulfilling his promise to return Mario alive, Jim Gordon receives a dinner invitation from Don Falcone. However, this comes on the eve of a huge snow storm. With the entirety of the night snowed in the Falcone estate, Jim has no choice, but to face a hidden secret about his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Drive" by The Cars:
> 
> Who's gonna tell you when
> 
> It's too late
> 
> Who's gonna tell you things
> 
> Aren't so great
> 
> You can't go on
> 
> Thinking nothing's wrong
> 
> Who's gonna drive you home tonight...  


Jim takes a deep breath and makes a hesitant heading towards the ME office. He knows Lee and Mario are right behind the door; he seen them walk in. He sat at his desk for a few minutes to work up the courage to go and talk to them. He wants to offer his apologies over what happened at the wedding then afterwards, on their honeymoon, when he shot Mario. He does his best to put on a brave face, but he halts at the door. He can hear Lee and Mario talking to Fox.

“Thank you for your help, Lucius.”

“Yes, thank you. I can’t believe what the virus almost made me do (sounds of a stifled choke)... to the very woman I love."

“I’m just glad you both are okay. I heard you destroyed the restraints at the hospital. Luckily they were able to get you sedated until I got a cure underway.”

“Yeah, I’m still trying to process everything I’ve done. Work colleagues had to see me like that. Lee has been an angel to stay with me the whole time despite the horrible things I’ve said to her.”

“Hey, it wasn’t you. That virus does things to people. It messes with their heads and makes them do things they would never do.”

Virus or not, Jim still didn’t trust Mario; he is a Falcone after all. He had wanted to shoot the man in the head; it would have been so easy.

><

_ Jim races to the cabin. His heart pounds ferociously; he fears he maybe too late. He runs to the front door, but hears Lee’s voice from around back. He hurdles the rocky terrain and down the path to the back porch. Once he rounds the corner he sees Mario lifting a large sharp knife up, his eyes are black and his faced veined. He means to stab Lee in the back where she stands. _

_ Without a second thought he shoots Mario once through the hand that’s gripping the weapon and another through his shoulder. Mario roars as he turns, but Jim is already upon him, pistoling whipping him across the back of the head. _

_ He looks up as Lee screams; the heartbreaking look on her face as she backs away makes his heart drop. He is aware of how it looks. After storming the wedding ceremony to beg her to come back to him; he knows this looks like the act of a jealous spurned lover. _

_ Frightened and confused, Lee runs into the cabin to grab a weapon to defend herself. _

><

The agonizing memories of the woman he loves running from him in terror tops right above her marrying someone else. Her blood curdling screams as Mario fell still echo in his mind. It has been a little over three weeks and still Jim is unable to block those terrible memories when he lies in bed every night.

He places his hand on the knob of the door but stops himself. He instead turns and walks away. He wearily plops down at his desk and rubs at his face. A rough hand pats at his back as the gruff and gentle tone of his best friend offers reassurance. “Well, at least you didn’t incur the wrath of Don Falcone. Last thing I need is for you to be at the bottom of Gotham Bay wearin’ a pair of cement shoes.”

The detective leans back into his squeaky chair and gives Harvey a slight nod. His hangdog expression worsening as the seconds go by. “At least there’s that.”

Harvey’s attention is elsewhere; Jim looks to where the captain is gazing. Lee and Mario are walking out of the GCPD, but before Lee exits the door, she peers over at him.

Harvey clears his throat. “Say Jimbo, you should take a couple of days off. I insist. I think you’ve been through enough in the last month. Figured with the incomin' snow storm predicted to hit it would give you plenty of time to rest.”

The detective furrows his brow in thought. Harvey is sure the stubborn work-minded man will decline; he readies himself for an argument. Jim looks up and nods. “Yeah, sure. I haven’t slept so well.”

Harvey blinks at his friend's acquiescence. He nods at the doors and jabs a thumb the same way. “Gone on, git! Hey, might wanna stock up on booze and food in case things get bad, weather wise. Call me if you get bored.”

Jim curls the corner of his mouth in a weak half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

___

Jim shuffles into his apartment with a brown paper bag of groceries. He shrugs out of his trench coat and throws his keys on a small cabinet by the door. He purchased water, beer, and a few sandwiches in case he’s snowed in by tomorrow. He halts in his tracks when a sound grabs his attention.

Slow methodical footfalls announce their presence from the small kitchen. Whoever is there, is approaching the living room. In the ebbing blue light of the fading day, a luminescent face beams in the darkened space. Full pink lips spread into a Cheshire smile as large eyes, darker than shadow, hold fast to him.

Jim scowls; his right hand makes a slow reach for his piece. “What are you doing here?”

Zsasz holds up both hands as his smile turns lopsided. “I come in peace.”

Jim’s guard doesn’t relax, if anything Victor’s smile and tone places him more ill at ease. He quickly reaches for his gun but is too slow. A swift shadow moves in almost unnatural speed and soon he finds a knife at his throat. Zsasz is standing on top of him as the sharp metal edge of his weapon lays across the thin skin of his neck. His other hand is grasping the back of his head. 

The assassin emits an audible sigh and rolls his eyes. “I _ did _ say I come in peace. Relax, Jim.”

The flustered detective wants to avert his gaze from the intensity that is Victor Zsasz, but his pride will not allow him to back down. Deep set eyes scrutinize him closely. Jim holds steady, ready to fling the unwanted guest his signature scowl. Victor licks his bottom lip; Jim’s gaze slips to the glistening plump flesh as it swipes at that perfectly shaped lip, leaving a wet trail. His lips part; his attention fully grasped.

A measured breath emits from the killer, intoning intrigue over Jim’s reaction. He raises an eyebrow; he deems the moment worth dissecting. He then remembers he’s there on business. Victor’s lips twist into a disappointed pout; his piqued curiosity will have to wait. He releases the detective from his grip and sheathes his knife back into his holster. His attention is seized when savory aromas waft up from the brown paper sack; he moans at the scent.

A flush of heat still has Jim in it’s grips; his leering was indeed noticed. His state of embarrassment is mercifully cut short when the bag of groceries is ripped from his grasps. He blinks at the man's audacity.

Victor pushes aside the opening of the bag to peer inside; his face lights up. He reaches in to grab at one of the sandwiches, but Jim smacks his offending hand and nabs his bag back. The perturbed blonde marches without pause towards the kitchen. Victor purses his lips as his eyes follow the flaxen-haired looker. 

Jim gruffs loudly as he slides the entire bag into the fridge. “So why the hell are you here?”

Victor’s scrunches his face at the question; his thoughts preoccupied with food. He blinks but quickly lights up and smiles. “Carmine invites you to join him for dinner. Tonight. In like… (brings up his watch and counts the minutes) twenty-eight minutes.”

The detective rolls his eyes and slams his fridge door shut. He barks out. “Pass! Get lost!”

Victor’s pleasant expression fades as he slowly blinks. “I think you’re mistaken, Jim. When I said _ invite_, it’s implied you’re to **come**. End of story.”

“Not interested.”

The pale gunman whistles. His women come out of the spare bedroom with their weapons drawn. “Not takin’ _ no _ for an answer. Either you can come in a dignified manner or I can wrap you up like a summer sausage and throw you in my trunk. Which will it be, Jim?”

The detecitve eyes the women that are drawing a tighter circle around him. He marches up to Victor and growls. “Fine, but give me a few minutes to get out of my work clothes and shower.”

Victor raises an eyebrow and smiles. “By all means.” 

Jim turns to head to his bedroom, but is shoved aside as the pale man takes the lead. He takes a deep breath and follows as Victor makes a direct heading towards the bathroom. 

Zsasz yanks the shower curtain aside and assesses the small window. Jim folds his arms over his chest and scoffs. “Do you really think I’m going to escape out that window, two floors high? In the dead of winter… _ without a coat? _”

The smirking assassin looks over his shoulder at Jim and smiles. “Precaution. You are good at escapin’ me.”

Zsasz beams a toothy smile as he leans against the bathroom sink. The detective points towards the door and commands. “Get out.”

The gunman licks his lips as he approaches Jim. “Sure you don’t need me to scrub those _ hard _ to reach places?” 

The detective gapes, dumbfounded by the ham-fisted attempt at flirtation. Zsasz gets in his personal space; those large dark eyes rake his body up and down. Jim’s heart races with the taller man's proximity; an all too telling flush of heat radiates across his cheeks. His arms unfold and hang at his side while his gaze slips towards Victor’s lips, again.

Victor reaches up with both hands and slowly peels Jim’s suit jacket from his shoulders.

Jim snaps out of his momentary lusty haze as he inhales a quick breath. “Get out!”

Victor narrows his eyes at the curt snub. “You got five minutes. I’ll pick somethin' out for you to wear.”

Jim wants to protest, but instead slams the door behind the sauntering man. He strips down and quickly washes himself then takes a minute or two to stand in the hot stream to gather his strength. His exhaustion is finally hitting him hard and having to spend a night in the company of the old mafia lord was far from what he wanted to do tonight. He can hear Victor whistling merrily in his bedroom. The sound of opening and closing drawers gnaw at him. He doesn’t relish the thought of the odd man going through his belongings— _ touching things_.

An unmistakable ache begins to form as a quick mental image forms of Victor’s long pale fingers tracing down his body. Then the aggressive snatch of hands, pressing him close to the younger man's hard body.

Jim shuts the water off and dries himself then wraps the thick towel around his waist. The evidence of his excitement visible even through the thick cloth. He walks out of the bathroom and is relieved that Victor isn’t waiting. An outfit lays on the bed along with shoes and one of his leather jackets. He begrudgingly admits that Victor knows how to coordinate an ensemble.

He steps out, dressed and ready to go.

Victor is roaming the living room eyeing family photos when he hears the detective enter the hallway. He turns and smiles; nodding his approval at Jim’s attire. He laid out a dark navy blue button up, charcoal gray slacks and black dress shoes; no belt. The fitted black leather jacket hugs Jim’s compact v-shaped frame perfectly. Lastly, the man’s luscious golden mane is swept back to reveal a freshly shaved face.

“Lets boogie. Don Falcone doesn’t like late dinner guests.”

The frigid windswept environment puts a quick jaunt to Jim’s step as he makes for his car. A rough and firm hand grabs him by the left elbow and squeezes. He winces, nearly stumbling on the icy ground.

Victor pulls him in and nods to his Imperial. “I was told to chauffeur you over. It’ll make the night go smoother for you if you just do as I say. Come.”

Jim growls; his outrage at being manhandled is more than enough for him to put the kibosh on dinner. His scathing words catch at the back of his throat when Victor wraps an arm over his shoulder; his expression soft. Dark eyes roam his face as an open-mouthed smile develops; large breath plumes escape into the wind. The enforcer's comment extinguishes his anger in an instant.

“Always so ready to fight. I bet you like it rough in bed."

Jim blinks up at the smirking man; before he can compose himself and retort, Victor opens the passenger side door and guides him in.

Zsasz slides into the driver’s seat and quickly starts the car to blast the heat. The low deep rumble of the classic 1964 Imperial coupe growls loudly as Victor lays on the gas pedal. The power under the hood shimmies the entire car; Jim's erection is slowing returning as he peers over at the narrowed gaze staring back at him. Victor flashes all of his teeth as he revs the engine one more time. Jim shifts uncomfortably in his seat as his cock twitches; his gaze unable to tear from Victor's.

A serpentine smile beams as Zsasz commands. “That seat belt is broken. (pats to the middle seat) You’ll have to sit here.”

Jim flusters as a flash of heat washes across his face. He shakes his head and leans back in the passenger seat. “No.”

“Ridin’ and drivin’ around without a seatbelt is against the law, _ Jim_.”

The detective flings a scathing look the killer's way for the comment. Zsasz presses his lips together into a grimace that peels back to reveal clenched teeth.

“Get over here, _ now_. **Please**.”

Jim scowls, unmoving. A gloved-hand snatches at a wrist. The enforcer growls under his breath. “Every second you delay us angers Don Falcone. Now, get over here and buckle up.”

The hard grip clamps down. Jim finds himself slowly sliding over. Victor yanks him the rest of the way and quickly leans over to buckle him in. 

The pale gunman turns his head to eye his passenger; their faces mere inches apart, arresting blue eyes lock with his own. His frustration quickly dissipates as long blonde lashes bat a couple of times revealing blown pupils. A ache develops below; Victor can already see himself crushing the man underneath him as he pumps into him wildly.  
  


Tempted with closing the small distance between them, Victor momentarily leans in, but stops himself. His lips press tightly as he turns to get them on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIDENTLY DELETED THE WORK!!! *dies* Sorry about that!! WOW what a costly mistake!! I'm severly bummed out now =(


	2. When You Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmine hints at his relationship with Peter Gordon.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "... Who's gonna pick you up
> 
> When you fall
> 
> Who's gonna hang it up
> 
> When you call
> 
> Who's gonna pay attention
> 
> To your dreams
> 
> Who's gonna plug their ears
> 
> When you scream
> 
> You can't go on
> 
> Thinking nothing's wrong
> 
> _Who's gonna drive you home tonight..._"  


Jim stares out the passenger window; his mind clouded over with thoughts about Lee and Mario. He had hoped for a reprieve during his precious two days off, but he is positive that they will come up as tonight’s unrelenting subject. Given no choice over Carmine’s invitation, Jim’s agitation is only made worse. He glances at the don’s trusted enforcer. Zsasz has been silent since they left his apartment parking lot.

The pale gunman cautiously navigates the icy roads out of Gotham. The traffic is bad with preppers racing to get last minute storm provisions. Once they are off the crowded city streets he glances at Jim. The detective is looking down at his lap, his brow deeply furrowed in thought. He never understood why the he didn’t just eliminate his competition especially when he had a damn good reason to do so.

  
  


“You shoulda shot'emin the head.”

Jim blinks at the sudden break of silence and gapes at Victor. He then turns his attention to the passing scenery in the windshield. He comments; his tone dismissive. “I’m a cop.”

“Yeah, but he had it comin’. You had every right to do it if you wanted.”

“Doesn’t matter what I want.”

Victor raises an eyebrow and glances at the solemn man next to him. “It should.”

The detective glares at Victor and snarks “Oh? Then I **want** to go home.”

Zsasz beams Jim a large toothy smile and chuckles. “Hey, that’s funny. You **do** have a sense of humor.”

He gives Jim a quick up and down glance as a large evil grin spreads across his face. He returns his attention to the road; the driveway to the Falcone estate comes into view. He mentions once they get through the gate.

“The passenger seat belt isn’t broken. I just wanted you close.”

Jim flashes the driver a scowl as his lips press together tightly. He unbuckles, quickly sliding away. Zsasz chuckles as he maneuvers into the large garage. Once they enter the mansion, Victor escorts him to the study where Don Falcone is waiting.

___

The old man looks up from his book and offers a smile. He stands as he welcomes his guest. “Jim Gordon, welcome. I’m glad you're here.”

Carmine briskly shakes the detective’s hand. Jim nods curtly as his hand is released. The old man heads to his mini bar and pours a couple glasses of whiskey and hands one over to his guest. Victor plops into a chair at the back and proceeds to preoccupy himself with his phone.

Jim mentions brusquely. “Not like I had a choice.”

The Don returns to his seat; his smile never faltering. “Please excuse my insistence that you attend. You’re not an easy man to thank.”

The detective's glare remains intact as he replies gruffly. “I’m not exactly in an entertaining mood.”

From the back, Victor’s eyes flash at him; a lopsided-grin plastered onto his youthful features.

Carmine nods. “The business at the wedding, I do apologize, but you insulted my son and upset Lee greatly. I can’t have such disrespect.”

Jim tunes out the old man as he gulps down his drink, unbothered at keeping appearances. He’s in no mood for Carmine’s presence or discussions about Lee and Mario. He needs another drink; he heads the mini bar and pours himself another, not bothering to ask his host.

“I promise; I didn’t invite you here to discuss the recent mess." Carmine gets up and approaches the detective. “I only wanted to thank you for keeping your promise on returning Mario alive.”

Jim’s eyes the old man before him. Though Carmine is significantly older than him, the man’s crystal blue eyes hold an unnerving clarity to them. They seem to peer right through him. “I still shot him. He was about to kill Lee.”

Don Falcone nods. “The Tetch Virus is diabolical. Again, I didn’t summon you here to talk of work or my family. I invited you because in times like these, I miss your father greatly. You remind me of him, the same tenacity, focus, and fire; I see it in you.”

Jim watches on as the don’s stoic persona melts just a bit. High set shoulders slump ever so slightly; his brow crinkles as crystalline eyes cloud over. Carmine’s gaze searches his own, perhaps to catch a glimpse of Jim’s long gone father in the same blue eyes and hardened gaze he’s inherited.

The older man smiles. “I hope you’re hungry. I made aracini; it was your father’s favorite. That and spaghetti, but since this is a special dinner I wanted to make the more complicated dish.” 

The detective raises an eyebrow at the comment. “My father hated spaghetti.”

Carmine chuckles and nods. “Other people’s spaghetti; not mine. Please, let’s make our way to the breakfast nook. I’m feeling rather nostalgic and that was the only place Peter would sit to eat.”

Jim sets his glass down and follows the old don. Heavy footsteps announce themselves clearly behind him. He turns and glances over his shoulder; Zsasz is following closely. That deep narrowed gaze is glued to him. His porcelain features brighten with a mischievous grin followed by a wink. Jim quickly returns his attention to following Carmine. He can hear Victor expel a soft breath; the very sound of it dripping with lurid interest.

In the warm glow of the small space in the kitchen, Jim’s gaze alights upon a small table with a setting for two. There are serving trays in the middle and two bottles of wine chilling in an ice bucket. His interest hangs noticeably. He just remembered it has been many hours since he last ate. 

His host gestures for him to sit at the closest table setting. The smell of the authentic Italian dish elicits a deep growl from his stomach. Jim glances at Carmine sheepishly. “I haven’t had lunch or a real breakfast. It smells good, by the way.”

The Don smiles as he lifts the serving tray lid and serves Jim several deep fried rice balls and marinara sauce. “Eat. I have a couple of opened bottles of Merlot, so please feel free to indulge.”

Jim’s mouth begins watering, but he offers a quick thanks before diving in. Carmine pours himself a generous glass of wine and smiles at his grateful guest. He slides into the seat across from him. The ravenous man is practically shoveling the food in. 

The detective quickly comes back to himself. He apologetically glances up at his host as he wipes his mouth. “It’s very good. You made this?”

“Yes, I learned to cook in an attempt to change your father’s opinion on Italian food. He hated it until I cooked it for him.”

Jim smirks when he is reminded of that finicky palette; his father was a diehard meat and potatoes kind of man. “He didn’t like ethnic food. To be honest, my father probably faked it. He faked it with my mother’s cooking too. Not that there was anything wrong with her food; he just didn’t like anything other than steak and potatoes.”

Carmine chuckles and nods. “Oh, I always knew if he was faking. Took him to many lunches and I can always tell when he disdained something, but he was polite. He ate it anyways. He would sit straight; his face would have that pinch look, and his actions were stiff.”

Jim busts out laughing and nods. “That’s it. I seen that many times. On the days my mother made what he loved, he would be hunched over the plate, raking it in.”

“That’s how I knew he enjoyed what I made.”

The detective takes a few more bites of food and pours himself a glass of wine. It occurs to him that perhaps Carmine and his father were closer than he realized. He always thought of them as distant associates. But hearing this, means that they must have spent a lot of time together.

“How long have you and my father known each other?”

“I was his first case. He was twenty-seven and I was twenty-nine.”

Jim gapes at Carmine. “That’s a long time.”

Carmine turns to a wall in the breakfast nook and points at a picture in the middle of many. He removes the small frame from the hook and smiles down at it. He then hands it over to Jim. “This is the one and only picture I have of him. It was the same year he passed away.”

Jim looks at the black and white photo of his father sitting in the very nook they are at now. He’s reading the paper over coffee and breakfast. In the photo the sunlight through the window casts a glare that mostly washes out the details, but Jim can see the distinguishable profile. He notices something that seems off about his father. Jim squints and tries to discern what he is seeing.

He realizes that his father is in boxer shorts and a white tee. His brow lowers. He glances at Carmine, the older man is sipping his wine and eyeing him intently. He hands the picture back and returns to his meal. He finishes his bite and mentions. “That was the year I went into the Army.”

“He was so proud of you, but he worried for your safety.”

Jim scoffs and shakes his head. “Then he would be mortified of what I do now.”

“He would be proud.”

Jim glances at Carmine; the older man is smiling at him then commences to eat.

As the evening progresses, Carmine and Jim are two bottles into the red wine and back in the study. The both of them on the leather couch deep in conversation.

“Peter had many enemies. Not because he was dirty or crooked, but because he **wasn’t** corrupt. There were days I thought he was going to end up missing, dead, or on the bad end of a setup. The thing about your father, Jim, is he always came out on top. He wielded his knowledge and ethics better than any man I’ve ever seen.”

Jim shakes his head as his brow crinkles in thought.

“My father never brought any of his work home with him. It’s something I failed miserably at.”

Carmine nods. “Your father was fierce about protecting you and your mother from his work and those that threatened him. However, he was not without his breaking point. He would come over and confide in me when things weighed too heavily.”

Jim drinks down the rest of his glass. “I don’t understand why he never spoke of you or hinted… “

“I’m from a world outside of the one he built for you.”

“You mentioned you were his first case. Were you two friends after that?”

The older man chuckles and raises an eyebrow. “Friends? We weren’t friends. We were enemies, then after a few years, we were closer than friends; closer than brothers.”

Jim glances at his host. The older man’s eyes cloud over with long ago memories. Someone knocks at the door breaking the moment. “Don Falcone, Savelli calls.”

“I will be right there. Excuse me, Jim. Help yourself to more drinks.”

The old man walks out. Jim gets up to help himself to another glass of wine. His first two steps are wobbly, but he immediately corrects himself. He didn’t need Zsasz chiming in; the pale gunman returned to them after disappearing during dinner. He can feel those large scrutinizing eyes on him. He is sure his inebriated state is something comical for the killer to behold. 

After a few steps in, the full effects from his drinking starts to really settle in. He knows he should stop, but the night has taken on a surreal atmosphere and he desperately wants to slip out of himself. He senses a presence directly behind him then the soft bump of a body pressing into his own. He turns his head to gaze up at the enforcer. Zsasz is behind him. He feels the bottle of wine snatched from his grip. Victor uncorks it then takes his glass and pours.

Jim is distracted by the feel of Victor’s large frame pressed to his own. The way he smells of warm wool, leather and a hint of faded cologne. He’s fast drowning in the gunman’s heat; he tries to snap out of it. A small bit of concern begins to develop that Carmine will find them in what would appear as an intimate exchange. Jim blinks; he realizes he’s more concerned with getting caught than with the effect the killer has on him. 

He examines the elegant and slender fingers before him as they hold the long stemmed glass. There's something seductive about the way the crimson spirit fills it’s curvature. Victor’s gloves are off; his rings sparkle in the golden glow of the fireplace and lamps.

Victor holds the overly filled glass aloft and whispers in his ear. “It’s not like you’re goin’ anywhere tonight.” He brings the glass closer. He smiles when the flaxen-haired man seems distracted. Hazy blue eyes take him in.

Jim takes the refill, analyzing Victor’s face; it’s flushed. Plump lips part as large dark eyes shift down. Victor’s right hand is nudging the glass up, encouraging him to drink. He brings the glass to his lips, but comments before indulging. “Thanks.”

Jim sips and lowers the glass from his lips, but a graceful hand holds the bottom of the glass and tips upward, making him drink more. Victor then steps back and returns to his seat in the shadows. Jim blinks at him before turning away. The killer's voice slices through the thick tension in the air. 

“They were lovers, Jim.” Zsasz smirks as he leans back in his chair.

The detective's brow crinkles when his brain finally processes the words. His eyes snap towards the shadowy figure in the back. The Victor's tone is one of amusement as he continues. “Or haven't you figured that out by now?”

Jim retorts. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Victor shrugs and replies. “He’s been tryna clue you in.”

The detective sways just a bit as he turns on Victor. “If it’s his secret to confess, why are _ you _ telling me?”

“I’m bored and you’re hot when you’re pissed.”

The sparkle of teeth in the subtle shadows gleam back at Jim. The drunken detective whips out his phone, having enough of the ridiculous night. He dials out to a cab company. “Hello, I need a pick up at…”

The pale enforcer watches as the confusion on Jim’s face grows; he shakes his head. The man pockets his phone and walks towards a window, pulling back the thick velvet curtain. The night is chaotic with a fury of snow and wind.

“Blizzard. Guess you’re stuck here— _ whoops_.”

Jim's brow furrows as a knot in his stomach develops. He knows there is no way he would be able to get back to Gotham with the storm raging outside. However, he didn’t have it within him to hear of his father’s illicit affair with Carmine Falcone. He gazes out into the snow and wonders how far he can get before the cold claims him. In the window, the ghostly reflection of Zsasz approaches him from behind.

“Would it be so bad for you to discover that your father was just a man with needs?”

“Yes; this narrative you are trying to push on me doesn’t make sense.”

Victor chuckles. “You’re so willfully blind, ** _detective_**.”

That comment hits Jim right in the gut. All the stories, the wistful sighs, and the silent thoughts throughout the night— _ and _ ** _that _ ** _ picture. _ He knows that Zsasz is telling the truth. He feels the cold feathery stroke of fingers down the back of his neck. It sends a shiver down his arms and back. He momentarily closes his eyes before spinning on Victor. A growl pushes through the hitched tone of his voice as he tries desperately to control his wavering will.

“Don’t touch me!”

The smile birthed by his outburst unsettles him. He is on the cusp of running out the doors to face the winter storm head on. Anything other than hearing contrary claims about the kind of man Peter Gordon was in his mind. The lyrics to [Hotel California](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uqSKl7sdUa8)begin to loop, fueled by alcohol and desperation.

_Last thing I remember, I was_

_Running for the door_

_I had to find the passage back to the place I was before_

_Relax' said the night man, _

_'We are programmed to receive._

_You can check out any time you like,_

_But you can never leave!_

He turns to look out the window again. Victor’s reflection is watching him through the glass. His head is turned down, casting deep shadows over his eyes. His image like the spectre of Death, watching him from out in the frozen wasteland. Jim averts his gaze; Victor comments.

“Don’t do anything _ stupid, _Jim. I don’t like the cold.” Zsasz turns sharply and exits the study.

Jim glances over at the closing door, relieved to have some privacy to think over the night. After a few minutes Carmine returns. “My apologies, some business that could not wait. I had a guest bedroom prepared for you; the snow storm is too dangerous to travel in.”

The detective is relaxing on the couch and facing the fire. He doesn’t bother turning around as he asks. “Did you love my father?”

Carmine joins Jim on the couch, the detective keeps his pensive gaze towards the fireplace. He places his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Jim turns around; his face is bright with the flush of alcohol. Carmine then notices a spent bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table.

“If there was one person I would give up my life for, it would be him.” He brings his hand to Jim’s face, his thumb stroking taut warm skin. Hazy blue eyes close when his caress slips down to stroke the man’s neck. He unbuttons the two top most buttons and fingers the exposed collar bone beneath. He retracts his hand and continues. “You work and fight so hard to be what he was. In your eyes, and your mother’s, he was and will always be the perfect man.”

Jim blinks a couple of times doing his best to clear his mind. The don is watching him closely. A knowing look is written across the indomitable man’s face; he is sure that Carmine knows he figured out the nature of the relationship. “What was he in _ your _ eyes?”

“A man who needed saving, from himself and from everything around him. You’re headed down the same road as him. Who do you go to when you need to be rescued?”

Jim stares back wide-eyed at Carmine. After a moment he sits upright and stares off into the fire again. He utters to the flames. “I have no one.”

“You need someone to take the burden off if for a little while. That kind of trust takes years and to have someone who readily accepts you, faults and all, is truly rare.” Carmine nods as a small huff emits from his lips. He gets up to pour himself another drink. “I’ve talked your ears off enough tonight. Thank you for being gracious and entertaining me. You must be tired. Victor will show you to your room. He’s in the hallway, waiting.”

Jim nods; he makes a slow and unsteady heading towards the door. He stops as he casts a glance at Carmine. He wants to begrudge the relationship between the old mafia lord and his father. However, Don Falcone more than likely deflected a lot of bad things that would have spill over to him and his mother.

“Carmine, thank you for sharing a side of my father I never knew. It’s a lot to take in.”

“He deserves tribute. In the morning, please feel free to make yourself at home. There is plenty of food and coffee in the kitchen. I fear we will be snowed in for a couple of days or so.”

Jim walks out the door to find Victor watching the storm taking place outside. The assassin’s eyes shift towards him as his head slowly turns. The deadpan expression seemingly just as cold as the winter that howls and billows around the large mansion. Zsasz begins walking away as he beckons Jim to follow.

They head upstairs to a less occupied wing. The hallway is chilly with an unexpected draft. Victor stops at a door and opens it, pushing the solid barrier away. He nods at the room. 

Jim glances at Victor as he enters; the moment is steeped with anticipation on his part. A quick flash of heat spreads throughout his body; a longing consumes him. He wants to feel his touch as he passes by, but Victor does not reach out.

The room is only slightly warmer than the hallway, but a fire is swiftly taking hold in the fireplace. The four poster bed is plump with a feather down comforter, pillows, and several thick blankets at the foot of the bed. Jim turns to close the door, but instead Zsasz is standing in the threshold preventing him. The gunman is staring him down. Jim finds his gaze slipping to his lips—_yet again_. He quickly turns away and grabs at the door knob, flashing Victor an expectant look to leave.

A devilish grin settles upon the assassin's face as he asks. “What? No goodnight kiss?”

Jim’s brows knit into a scowl as he pushes Zsasz out of the doorway and slams the large portal shut, quickly locking it. 

He wanders to window and looks out to the chaotic night. Visibility would be nearly zero if it weren't for the dim outdoor lights. The moans of the turbulent storm echo down the hallway; the tumultuous grievance barely muffled by the thick walls and ceilings. He wonders how often his father haunted these very halls before coming home.

Jim sighs. The soft bed beckons and he obeys with a large surrendering plop onto the thick comfortor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again! Sorry I accidentally deleted the work! Luckily AO3 sends copies upon such horrid mistakes =(


	3. Who's Gonna Come Around?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim deals with the truth of his father's affair with Carmine. Victor does his best to win over the agitated detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “...Who's gonna hold you down
> 
> When you shake?
> 
> Who's gonna come around
> 
> When you break?
> 
> You can't go on, thinkin'
> 
> Nothin's wrong, buh bye
> 
> Who's gonna drive you home, tonight?
> 
> Oh, you know you can't go on, thinkin'
> 
> Nothin's wrong
> 
> Who's gonna drive you home, tonight?”

Zsasz blinks as the oppressive barrier closes heavily; the reverb intones a scathing sentiment of _ no admittance_. His jaw muscles clench tight as he stares down the oak door. It’s very presence an attack upon him and everything he stands for. The detective has been sending mixed signals throughout the night, but he is positive that the man is _ into _ him. He’s willing to stake his reputation on it. The long glances, the way Jim stood his ground when he all but jumped him when they were alone, and how he was always looking at his lips.

_Jim wants him._

He raises an eyebrow completely dumbfounded by the rebuke. His face pinches in thought. The capricious detective would never admit that he’s attracted to him. An assertive touch seemed to get a response from the stubborn man earlier. Victor smirks when he recalls the little set up in the car, forcing Jim to sit close. The detective is a known scrapper, by all estimates the older man should have gone into a fighting frenzy. However, Jim obeyed, albeit with protest. His mind conjures scenes of him jumping the tired detective and forcing his lips upon him. His daydream goes further into Jim pulling him down onto the bed.

Victor brims with excitement; he bends down to look at the keyhole lock. The contraption is a basic five tumbler set up. He rushes to his personal quarters and grabs his lock picks. He returns to the offending door and leans in to listen. The other side offers no sound. He is sure Jim is in bed since he had been drinking heavily all night. He squats down and unrolls his kit. He selects his basic wrench and goes to insert it.

That’s when a soft, yet angry, voice calls from down the hall. "**Victor.**”

Zsasz jumps to his feet and faces the old man; his face flush with guilt and embarrassment at being discovered. He drops the wrench on top of his kit and stares wide-eyed as Carmine makes a direct heading towards him. The old man is carrying a garment bag in one hand and a small bag of toiletries in another.   
  


Carmine looks down at the kit then returns his narrowed gaze to his shamefaced enforcer. “Whatever you’re planning on doing here is a direct reflection on _ me_. Just what exactly do you think will happen once you are through that door?”

Victor’s thoughts are unable to form under the old man's scrutinizing gaze. He bows his head and shrugs. Carmine continues to admonish him. “Let me tell you what would have happened. Jim would not only be enraged, but he will perceive you as a threat. Are you breaking in to force something?”

Zsasz quickly whips his gaze back and shakes his head. “No, I thought he was into me and I wanted…well… uh.” Victor presses his lips closed as he tilts his head and looks away. His explanation sounding weak even to his own ears.

“Our guest is tired and has been drinking all night. He isn’t in a frame of mind to consent to _ anything_.” Carmine sighs and offers Victor the items in his arms. The red-faced gunman quickly takes possession of his burden. The Don bends down and takes the lock picks. He shakes his head at Zsasz. “Why don’t you relieve some tension with your women? Jim isn’t just another notch on the bedpost. He requires patience.”

Victor nods and offers apologetically. “Sorry, Don Falcone.”

Carmine places his hand on Victor’s shoulder. “These are Peter’s clothes he kept here and guest toiletries. Offer it to Jim then leave him be.”

Victor nods. The older man releases him and exits the hallway.

A solid knock on the door wakes Jim from a light sleep. The room momentarily spins as he peels himself from the thick bed. He stumbles and hits a nightstand by the bed; a lamp falls over making a clamorous din.

Victor hears the commotion and calls out from the door. “Hey, you okay in there? I got somethin’ for you.”

The drunken detective steadies himself and stomps towards the door, unlocking it and whipping it open. He blinks up at the towering man.

Victor holds out the items and says. “These are for you. A change of clothes and other things for the mornin’.”

Jim raises an eyebrow and is about to take the items, but Victor walks in instead. “I’ll put’em in the closet. Don Falcone said they belonged to your dad.”

The tired detective returns to the bed as he gruffly says. “Thanks. Get out.”

Zsasz ignores the command and comments. “You should drink some water so you don’t wake up hung over.”

Jim plops onto his side as he fluffs a pillow under his heavy head. He buries his face in it as the pull of sleep begins tugging at him hard. “I don’t have any. _Get out_.”

Zsasz hangs the wardrobe in the closet and places the toiletries in the bathroom. He comes out and glances at the lump on the bed. He approaches the bedside, admiring how soft and vulnerable the typically hard lawman looks. Blue eyes peep open and hold steady on him; Victor turns as he states.

“I’ll get you some water.”

Jim nods sleepily barely conscious.

Victor returns to the bedroom with a pitcher of ice water and a glass along with a bottle of aspirin in his coat pocket.

He looks down at Jim who attempted to peel his shirt and pants off midway, but seemingly gave up in favor of sleep. Jim is on his side, his shirt off his shoulders and tangled at his elbows, his pants zipper and button undone and his blonde tresses a tangled mess. The urge to run his fingers through those luscious waves tempts him greatly; he sets the items down on the nightstand. He reaches out and strokes at the golden locks, smiling at their silken texture. He then nudges the man with firm hand. Jim’s eyes pop open.

“Hey, got you some water and a couple of aspirin. Might wanna take’em.”

Jim nods. His head already in the throes of a headache. The room tilts as he shuffles into a sitting position; he whips off his offending shirt and leans back on the headboard. There’s a tacky and sour presence that is only made worse with the growing cotton mouth. He takes the offered glass and pills. He downs the entire glass of ice cold water which instantly makes him feel better. Victor takes it and fills it again.

“Thanks. Wine really messes with me.”

Victor grins. “Noted.”

Jim takes the offered refill and glances at Carmine's enforcer. The very fact that the man is there waiting on him seems odd in itself, but he manages a small smile. He drinks down the second glass then sets it on the nightstand. He quickly returns to horizontal position; his eyes follow Zsasz as he jaunts over to the fireplace.

Victor decides to feed the fire; he tosses a large log in. He takes a moment to watch as the fire licks and curls, growing with the new addition. He glances at Jim. The man looks tired and it’s as Carmine says. He’s in no position to consent much less engage in anything other than sleep. He smiles and drawls merrily. “See yea.”

Jim nods as he watches the man stride out. As crappy and drunk as he feels, he still wishes to be touched by him. Frustration settles deep as he purses his lips tightly. He was sure the assassin would attempt something, but instead he was the perfect gentleman. He huffs with mild annoyance at the world as he strips down to his underwear and tucks himself in for the night.

___

Jim awakens to a darkened room; the chill in the air almost more than he can bear. He looks towards the fireplace; there’s nothing more than just a few dying embers. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and notices the time is seven in the morning. He groans, lamenting not being in his own apartment where he would still be fast asleep.

He smacks his mouth a few times; his tongue is dry and sticking. He spies the pitcher of water and glass on the nightstand. He downs a full glass and sighs heavily. Other than the dry sour mouth and a general feeling of exhaustion, he made out rather well. No headache to add to the unpleasantness of the morning. 

He wraps himself in a blanket from the pile at the foot of the bed. He quickly shuffles to the bathroom to relieve himself of his painfully full bladder, doing his best to keep the blanket secured around him. Once done, he makes for a window to take a peek outside in hopes that the weather will allow for a speedy escape off the Falcone estate.

Remnants of the snow storm still linger as fat flakes ride powerful gusts of wind. The topography of the world outside unrecognizable as the white homogeneous terrain continues to replace all. Jim shakes his head; the roads are completely covered in a thick layer of snow that appears to be a few feet deep. Unless Carmine has a snowcat, he is stuck for another day. 

Jim huffs and goes through his normal bathroom routines with the sample pouch of toiletries given to him. Feeling a bit better, he makes his way to the closet to retrieve the garment bag. He lays it on the bed and opens the bag; inside are two complete outfits. He raises an eyebrow at the ensembles. They looked nice and well kept, but they are dated. He slips on a white button up and one of the tweed pants. Thankfully, it was dark gray and not the beige tones he always remembered his father in. He shakes his head at the jackets and closes the bag. He pulls on his socks and shoes then grabs his leather jacket. He heads down to take Carmine up on the offer of food and coffee.

The mansion below is quiet and dark; a small light in the kitchen lights the way for Jim. No one is in the massive area. Jim looks around the kitchen then wanders over to the pantry to look for the coffee grounds. He slowly inspects every overly stocked shelf.

“Lookin’ for this?”

Jim peeps out of the pantry to see Zsasz holding the coffee grounds and setting a kettle on the stove. Jim swallows thickly; the man’s in nothing but super short _ranger panties_ and a sheer black robe that he barely bothered to slip on all the way. Finely honed quads, glutes and abs catch his attention. Then the not so subtle reminder of the kind of man that stands before him; carved tallies scroll across Victor’s broad chest and arms. The sight of him stirs that same longing and excitement from last night; his gaze unable to tear from the shamelessly exhibited alabaster skin.

“Uhhh Jim? You thinking or…"

Jim blinks as a rush of blood fills his face. He didn’t register Zsasz had spoken at all. He rubs the back of his neck as he finally steps out of the pantry.

“Uh I … I wasn’t paying attention. What did you ask?”

Victor smirks as he glances down at the grounds to measure out for the French press.

“I asked how you take your coffee.”

“Uhh black.”

A coquettish expression flashes his way; Zsasz slowly traces a hand down his score-ridden chest and abs. The incorrigible man turns to give him a good view; his exploring hand finds it's perch on the elastic band of his shorts. He pulls the top down just enough to give him a sneak peek of the base of his cock; Jim's eyes feast on the exposed skin. He always wondered and now he knows, the flirtatious assassin is indeed creamy smooth throughout. A jolt sparks through him and settles down below; a building ache makes itself known. Though the display was a graceless attempt at seduction, it succeeds at getting a _ rise _ from him nevertheless.

A myriad thoughts and emotions course all at once; his face burns bright which only adds to his discomfort. He finally tears his eyes from the bawdy scene to look for the coffee cups.

Zsasz's mouth upturns in a triumphant smirk at Jim's interest. The flustered detective turns awkwardly away to search the cabinets. He shakes his head.

“If you're lookin’ for cups I gottem right here. Go relax.”

Jim refrains from looking at Victor, not trusting that the gunman has ceased his salacious show. He simply nods and dashes for the breakfast nook. Once seated his gaze pinpoints the picture of his father in the middle of the menagerie of captured moments. He turns away as his brow furrows. After having the night to sleep on the discovery of his father’s double life, anger begins seeping into the core of him. He feels lied to and betrayed. His whole life good values have been hammered into him. Before yesterday, the image of his father was one of righteousness, faithfulness, and loyalty. A strong man that endured what he must and never failed. Now, it was all just a big lie. His father led a double life and loved another, but more than that, he gave exception to a mafia lord; a criminal.

Zsasz peers over at the detective who seems to be brooding. The man’s arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes staring off into space. Jim’s jaw is clenched tight as his handsome features settle into a deep scowl.

“Lemme guess, you’re pissed at your old man.”

“Drop it, Zsasz.”

“Whatever, it’s a boring subject.”

Jim sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He leans on the table and hangs his head. A hundred questions about his father and himself all collide in unrelenting doubts. His entire life he strived to be just like his father. A strong, stoic, and _ just _ man, but now everything is in question. The man he revered didn’t exist the way he was led to believe. The sound of a cup sliding in front of him snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up. Victor is sliding into the chair next to him.

The pale man studies him for a bit then smiles as he asks. “Do you work out? You know, have a routine on the regular?”

Jim’s face scrunches at the absurd question. Victor sips at his cup and continues when a response is not forthcoming. “I usually like to start my day with yoga then interval trainin’. Reduces stress, gets the blood flowin’, and puts me in a great mood. Looks like you need to let off some steam. Wanna spar?”

A bitter expression overtakes Jim as he shakes his head. Victor chuckles. “You rather sit here and cry over shit that you can’t change than take this opportunity to beat da shit outta me? Com’on, Jim. You know I deserve to get pummeled for somethin’. I’ve been especially ** _bad _ **since the last time you knocked me out.”

Victor bites his lower lip and nudges his shoulder on Jim’s. The detective almost spills coffee onto his lap with the bump.

Jim sighs. He’s sure Zsasz isn’t going to relent his prodding. He mentally admits that a spar sounds fun and beating the crap out of Victor would help him unwind.

The assassin boasts with a puffed-out chest. “I’ve been takin’ Krav Maga classes, considerin’ all the times you’ve laid me out. I would love to test what I know.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Why not just find out the next time you try to kidnap or kill me?”

Victor tilts his head and flashes all his teeth as a deep chuckle emits. He raises a finger and points it at Jim as he leans in. “Figured you woulda kicked my ass last night, but you weren’t takin’ the bait.”

Jim scoffs. He had always envisioned Zsasz to be a complicated and mysterious sadist, but after spending the evening and morning in his company he’s sure the man is just simple and driven by whatever catches his interest in the moment. He grabs the coffee cup and sips. He wonders how long till Victor gets bored of him and goes about his way. He glances at the smooth boyish face; the man is seemingly engrossed with him. He smiles bitterly.“You feel confident enough to take me on?”

“So, is that a yes?”

“Is this how you really want to start the day?”

Victor grins. “Don’t think I can beat you?”

“I know you can’t. It takes years to get decent at hand-to-hand. I doubt you take on jobs with your fists instead of your guns.”

Victor thinks for a moment and replies. “How about a wager?”

Jim snarks “**Sure**. What do you want if you win?” 

“For something as monumental as defeatin’ Gotham’s heroic, Detective Gordon; I want a lofty prize.”

Jim swallows as his body spikes with heat. He can already sense what Zsasz is going to say. Guilt manifests for hoping that Victor would want to touch him as his prize. But knowing what he does of the killer, it will be something odd like him coming over to organize his closet or a trophy engraved with _ Kicked Jim’s Butt Good_. Maybe he will demand to put on his service blues and prance around like he’s a cop only to strip each item off in a sleazy show to taunt him.

Jim swallows at that last mental image. He is sure he’s gaping, his body thrums with anticipation. He barely manages to ask “Well, what do you want?”

Victor leans into him; the feel of fingers caressing his throat elicits a soft gasp from Jim’s lips. Victor whispers heavily. “_I want you._”

Jim bites his lower lip as his eyes close. He can feel the ghostly caress glide up his throat to stroke his jaw. He turns his head into Victor’s, his body alive with renewed interest. Victor’s lips part as a heavy breath expels; the man sways in towards him. He can tell Victor wants desperately to lean in; he feels the same way. But the very idea of sex as a poker chip to be won and with such an obviously immature game of posturing, churns his stomach. Jim turns away as he retorts “My body isn’t a prize. So no, something else.”

Victor purses his lips tightly for a moment then rebuttals. “But you’ll probably win.”

Jim scowls into his coffee as he dismisses “You know what, forget it.”

Victor inhales a sharp breath and blurts out not wanting Jim to push him away. “A date then! If I win, you go on a date with me.”

Jim raises an eyebrow as he gazes at Victor. The younger man is biting his lower lip looking genuinely hurt with his denial. Jim turns away and slowly shakes his head, he thumbs the handle on his coffee cup. He’s a little shocked at what lengths Zsasz will go through to have a shot at him. The heavy-handed flirtation, the clumsy attempts at seduction, and now a game to lock in a chance to further his attempts; he didn’t know what to make of it. He exhales as he leans both elbows on the table, his turns his head and eyes Victor. If it had been any other day before last night he would not only rebuke his attempt, but put the correct punctuation on it curtsey of his Colt Commander. He wonders if Victor had been working to get him to this point or if the man is just bold and reckless. Regardless, Jim can’t deny that the man has a pull over him.

“Victor, what do you think will happen between us?”

“I dunno, but I wanna find out.”

Jim glances at his father’s picture; the uncanny parallels are palpable. The only difference is, he doesn’t have a wife and kid to string along and lie to. He glances at Victor again, the gunman is staring at him with large pleading eyes. He has a feeling Zsasz isn’t one to put himself out there and it shows with how uncomfortably he is shifting in his seat.

“Okay. If you win we go on a date, but it has to be somewhere discreet. Nothing sketchy like The Foxglove. Let’s keep things tame for the first date.”

Victor’s smile widens with each word and practically glows when he hears what sounds like real promise. “First date? So, you would consider more dates?”

Jim smirks and shakes his head. “**If **you win, but you won’t so don’t get your hopes up.”

“So what’s your wager, Jim?”

“I’ll keep that to myself when I win. So where to?”

Victor jumps out of his chair quickly strides out of the kitchen as he chirps over his shoulder. “This way.”

They enter a large ballroom; the area is empty but a fire is blazing in the large stone face. “This is where I usually do my mornin’ workouts.” Victor slips the robe off and kicks it aside.

Jim begins stripping and quickly gets down to his boxers. Victor drinks Jim’s body in. He only ever seen the stuffy detective in his work clothes or constantly hidden under bothersome layers. He bites his lower lip when he takes in the evenly tanned golden skin. A few scars riddle the seasoned warrior on the shoulders, back, and legs. Jim isn’t chiseled, but still finely crafted. After having been on the receiving end of a couple of the detective’s signature beat downs, he knows that he’s strong. Jim is also swift and agile; his smaller build makes him difficult to grab a hold of.

Jim turns and asks “Rules?”

Victor trots over to the mantle and gathers two wooden dirks. He tosses one to Jim.

“Kill stroke: arteries, heart, or guts. Everything is game.”

Jim puckers his lips and whistles in delight. “So how quickly do you want this to end? I can play with you a bit to give you confidence.”

Victor wields the training weapon and begins circling the smack-talking detective. His focus entirely on getting into the frame of mind. Jim keeps his ground and eyes the circling assassin.

Zsasz lunges blade tip first at Jim’s back. The smaller man leans as he grabs Victor’s wrist and uses his weight and momentum against him, throwing him forward. Victor tumbles and quickly rolls away jumping to his feet. He chuckles at his opponent.

Jim could have followed through and ended the match, but he wants to gage how skilled Zsasz truly is. He stands his ground and flips the wooden dagger in his hand as he beams him a bright smile.

After a few more of his lunges get parried, Victor decides to throw in a little kickboxing. His legs are long and powerful, providing him a better reach and Jim wouldn’t expect such a thing from him. He hopes to conquer the man immediately. He lunges with the blade and it’s parried yet again. Jim comes in and aims for his guts. Victor jukes and kicks Jim on his backside. 

Jim stumbles to get his footing, but is able to get a solid stance to turn and defend. That’s when he sees a large foot come at him and hit him square in the chest. He keeps on his feet, but stumbles backwards. He keeps the charade going in hopes that Victor comes in closer.

Victor quickly descends on the flailing man only to be tricked. Jim dives for the floor and sweeps his legs out from under him. The momentum and force of Victor’s bigger build sends him tumbling. Jim grabs Victor’s left wrist and forcefully twists the arm, making Victor roll onto his belly. Jim straddles the struggling man and swiftly slices at Victor’s neck, at the arteries. 

Zsasz’s body flops to the ground in defeat. His breaths heaving as his eyes shut tight in disappointment. He then feels Jim sit on him as he leans in to whisper in his ear. “Not bad, rookie.”

Zsasz glances over his shoulder at the triumphant man who is still straddling him. He flashes his teeth as his brain switches to more appealing forms of “combat” with Jim. The warmth of Jim’s body fades as he rises to get off of him. He quickly flips around and grabs onto the smaller man, pulling him down onto his lap as he sits up.

Jim is taken completely by shock. Large hard arms encircle his waist drawing him in closer as soft dark eyes peer up at him. Fingers caress lazy feathery strokes at the small of his back, sending a shudder through him.

“Well you won, Jim. Naturally. So, what’s da prize you wanna claim for being the _victor_?” Zsasz releases Jim and leans back onto his palm as he rests his right cheek on his shoulder; his eyes rake up and down Jim’s body.

Jim leans back, mimicking Victor’s pose. Their bodies make a perfect “V”; their hips joined as their legs stretch out behind the other. A tell tale hardness begins to shift in between them; Victor’s excitement is very evident. His own begins to ache and grow as well. He nudges onto Victor a little, their eyes nevering tearing from each other. The assassin shakes his head as he bites his lower lip.

“Well, since I won. I want us to spar again another day. I know of a couple of places we can use that isn’t Carmine’s ballroom. We spar until you win, that’ll be my ongoing wager. And...”

Zsasz beams a large smile. “And?”

Jim leans in to scoot closer, prompting Victor to do the same. Jim wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders; the gunman embraces him, drawing him in tightly. He wastes no time and captures Victor’s lips with his own, ushering a moan from the eager man. Tongues swiftly find each other as teeth softly scrape at swollen lips. Their tongues carry on the battle as their hands grasp and explore each other haphazardly. The assassin grinds into him as a large hardness pokes and prods the thin barriers of silk. 

Victor pulls back; breaths heaving as his hands slip down to grab two handfuls of Jim’s posterior. “Luckily for you, my body is indeed a prize to be won.” He attacks Jim’s lips once again as he utters. “I was gonna go shower; join me_._”

Jim is tempted, but as much as he would enjoy giving in, he isn’t ready to trust Zsasz with something so intimate and compromising. Jim leans back and shakes his head. His body aches to be touched. Conflicted thoughts get in the way of his need to connect intimately, especially with someone like Victor. The obvious strain on this new found attraction is the fact that they are who they are— _ a felon and a cop_. He wonders what was the breaking point for his father when it came to Carmine. How did his father resolve the conflict of who he is when it came to his love affair with the mafia boss? He feels a finger on his forehead and glances up. Victor is smiling.

“_You gotta get out of your head, Jim. _ You thinkin’ ‘bout your old man and Carmine, aren’t you? All that means squat.”

Jim stares wide-eyed at the smiling man. He didn’t know what to make of Victor’s insight. He swallows and replies. “But it should. I just kissed you and I can’t stop thinking about all the consequences.”

“You have no “off” button. You really need one.”

Jim looks down as his hands slide off Victor’s shoulders and down his chest. Fingers threading through his hair return his attention.

“How about we meet up every other week to spar as per your win. While you’re beatin’ my ass maybe you’ll learn to relax a little.”

Jim nods.

Victor plants a kiss on the side of his head and releases him. Jim rises and returns to his clothing to get dressed; Zsasz is already gone out of the ballroom. Jim makes his way to the kitchen to finish his coffee and maybe find food. The aromas of cooking catch his attention as he approaches.

Carmine watches a pan as he sips at his coffee. He smiles when Jim returns to his own cup. “Would you like an omelette?”

Jim sits at the large island with his lukewarm coffee and nods. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

“I take it Victor is up. There’s another cup at the nook.”

Jim smiles nervously. “Yeah.”

Carmine grins at Jim then tends to the omelette in the pan. After a few moments the detective gets up and approaches him. He turns and waits for the man to speak.

“How did you and my father resolve conflict of interests? He was a DA and you’re, well, Don Falcone. It couldn’t have been easy. I honestly don’t understand how.“

Jim sighs and shakes his head. “I struggled with normal relationships; Barabara and Lee weren’t criminals. Yet, who I am and what I do destroyed us. You two had everything against you. Different ways of life, marriages— _ kids_. At no time did my father ever stop and ask himself if what he was doing is wrong? Or you?”

Carmine nods as he slides the omelette onto a plate and hands it to Jim. “You want to know if your father felt guilt for loving me?”

Jim swallows and nods. Carmine tends to his omelette as he answers. “Oh, yes. All the time. I just want to make one thing clear; I never pressured him into choosing. When we first were together he was torn; it nearly destroyed him. I pushed him away. I couldn’t bare to see him so hurt. He couldn’t reconcile his feelings for me and live up to his vows to your mother and his career. But as much as he was in conflict, he didn’t want to end what we had. So we made vows to each other; to never let work interfere, also, you and your mother come first as the same with my own family. What time we did have with each other we didn’t waste.”

Jim sits at the island as he lets it all soak in. Carmine hands Jim a fork and napkin then pours more coffee into his cup.

“How did it start?”

Carmine slides his breakfast onto another plate and sits next to Jim at the island. “He was working on a case that was very near to my heart. It involved a few close friends and their deaths. I worked with him to bring in the largest human trafficking cartel in Gotham.” 

Carmine glances at the entrance to the kitchen as his brows knit together. His expression turns to concern and a far away look. Jim looks towards the entrance then back at Carmine. The old man whispers. “I found out that the son of my murdered friends had been taken. It took us several months to find him. By then, he was broken. I asked your father to help me get custody of him.”

Jim’s eyes grow wide; he knew who Carmine was talking about. 

“Your father and I worked closely in that time; everything between us coalesced into attraction. Not to make you uncomfortable, but we gravitated towards each other. Every hatred, bitterness, and vengeance I had in me for Peter changed into passion, admiration, and desire.”

Jim swallows and puffs out a breath. “I see. To be honest, I woke up angry. Angry at my father and this life he had with you. I was under the assumption it was just some tawdry affair, but there’s history and circumstances.”

Jim shakes his head. Carmine lays a hand on his shoulder. “You have every right to feel as you do. I shared this with you because there are days I feel so empty without him. Last night was the anniversary of our vows. We celebrated every year. I needed to see you because you are so much like him. It felt like he was there with me when I looked at you. It gave me comfort, more than you know.”

Jim clasps Carmine’s hand on his shoulder and nods. The topic about the boy weighs on his mind. He glances at Carmine and asks. “It was Victor, wasn’t it?”

Carmine glances at him and nods as he returns to eating. Jim’s solemn expression hangs for a few moments before he continues with his breakfast.

After breakfast Jim returns to his room to call on Harvey to check on him.

“Yeah, nothin’ but reruns and t.v. dinners here. Heard that the city got the snow plows out. I was gonna head into work once the streets are cleared to check on the officers who elected to stay. How you holdin’ up? Gettin’ plenty of rest I hope? I was thinkin’s of droppin’ by afterwards.”

“Yeah… uh… I’m not in my apartment to tell you the truth. I’m at Carmine’s home. Long story, I don’t suppose the plows will make it out this far?”

“You’re what?! Man, you and that family. I swear. You okay, though, right?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Harv. He invited me to dinner and next thing I know I’m trapped here because of the storm.”

“I’m sure the departments closer that way probably have plows ready. Just call me if you can’t get out by tomorrow. I’ll figure somethin’ out. Might have a buddy I can call that has a snowcat.”

Jim chuckles when he envisions Harvey coming through the Falcone estate with a snowcat, making a scene of rescuing him.

“If by tomorrow morning I’m not home. I might send an SOS out to you.”

“Yeah, you bet. Okay, play nice over there and I’ll call you later tonight.”

“Okay.”

Jim lays on the bed not intending to take a nap, but when he wakes the light of day has faded. There’s a knock; Carmine is there at the opened door. Jim stands and approaches the waiting man.

“The roads are now cleared. You slept through lunch. Would you like something to eat before you go?”

“No, I should get going. I’ll call a cab or have Harvey come get me.”

“Victor said he would drive you back. If you rather not, I can call a cab.”

Jim shakes his head. “It's fine. I’ll go with Victor. Oh, uh. I’ll have the shirt and pants dry cleaned and sent back to you when I can.”

“It would be appreciated. Thank you for listening. This secret is a heavy burden and doubly so when there is no where to unload it. I hope you don’t think less of your father. He truly loved you and your mother. It was nice having you here. Take care.”

Jim watches as the mafia lord makes his way down the hall. He calls out. “Carmine. My dad’s birthday is in a couple of months. I usually have a drink and visit his grave. If you want to join, you are welcomed.”

Carmine turns and shakes his head. “No, that is for you. Birthdays are for family.”

Jim watches as the man disappears; he then enters the room to gather his jacket, clothes, and phone. Victor knocks on the door and drawls merrily.

“Hey, guess I’m your chauffeur again.”

“I’m ready.”

“We’ll be takin’ a larger ride. My Imperial can’t handle all that ice.”

___

Victor whips up into the large four wheel drive jeep. He glances at the lack of bench seating and presses his lips tightly. He glances at Jim and chirps. “Guess that seat belt works.”

Jim offers a small smile. The entirety of the ride is in silence; neither Jim or Victor engage in small talk. Once at Jim’s apartment, the detective grabs the vehicle door handle, but pauses to glance at Victor; the man is watching him intently. “I don’t have your number, might need that if we are going to meet up next week.”

Victor smiles brightly as he digs into his jacket and removes a cardholder. He holds a black card out, cradled in between his index and middle finger. Jim takes it then hops out of the Jeep. He makes a brisk heading to the metal stairs, but stops to look back at Zsasz. The pale gunman is watching him; their gazes lock for a few moments before Victor finally backs out of the parking spot. Jim turns and carefully negotiates the thick snowy steps. He enters his warm apartment as he sighs in relief. He heads to his bedroom when his phone rings.

“Hey Harv.”

“Hey Jimbo, were you able to get out of the Falcone estate?”

“Yeah…”

The sound of his front door opening catches his attention. He walks out into the hallway, Zsasz is standing at the other end. “I’ll call you back, Harv.”

Jim and Victor stand in silence for a moment before the assassins speaks.

“I know you probably feel apprehensive ‘bout us coz of who I am and what I do. The time we were together, I felt _ different_. Then you kissed me and it clicked; you made me feel normal.”

Jim approaches Victor. “You never been with someone that made you feel normal?”

Victor scoffs as he chides incredulously. "You do know I'm a hired killer in a world of mafioso's and gangs, right?" Jim nods sheepishly; a wide grin settles on Victor's lips as he continues. “People from my world are cold or they have ulterior motives. You have so much to lose just by touchin’ me, but _ you did_.”

Jim flashes a sympathetic look Victor’s way, but quickly lowers his head and replies. “I guess the big question between us is, can there be trust?”

“Yeah, I get that. The risk swings both ways, Jim. Reputation is everything to men like us.” Victor take a couple steps towards Jim and continues. “Despite all that, I still wanna know what this is between you and me.

Victor closes the small distance between them. “Do you have to go be a detective tonight?”

Jim shakes his head and raises an eyebrow. “Do you have to go be a hitman?”

Victor shakes his head. “I’m off.” He emits a soft sigh as he looks towards the front door. He grumbles playfully. “It’s awfully _ cold _out there.”

Jim smiles. “Yeah. It’s warm here.” He grabs Victor by the coat lapels.

Zsasz leans in and places a soft kiss on his lips. He replies. “It is _ very warm_.”

Jim threads his arms inside of Victor’s coat and pulls him in. He smiles as a mouth and slightly chilled nose, explore his neck. Teeth lightly scrape as a long flat tongue swirl lazy circles on his skin. Victor quickly removes his gloves and weaves his fingers through his hair. 

Jim inhales a sharp breath when teeth bite down a bit harder. He utters breathlessly. “Stay.”

Victor pulls back and smiles, taking Jim's hand. He leads them to the living room. He smiles as he heads to a radio sitting on a shelf. 

Jim raises an eyebrow as Victor turns it on and tunes through the stations. The whirring of voices sound between the trilling of static until Victor finds what he’s searching for. The assassin turns and look at him as the intro to a song beats deeply in the living room. It’s a [ cover song from The Cars ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHiP3_-N0Vc)

Victor turns and takes Jim’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. His other arm wraps around his waist; Jim wraps his arm around his shoulder. The two sway as they allow the moment to be just that, a deeply private moment. No words, no distractions, just the two of them together finding their rhythm.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this very different and very PG story which is a break from my norm. I found the prompt from HistoryISculture to very intriguing and that is why I couldn't make this a short fic. I was doing my best to keep it short when I would love nothing more to make it a bit longer. Alas, maybe one day I will expand on this story. But for now, I think ending it as I did gives room for readers to imagine all the possibilities of the pairing, whether it's a good ending or a troubled one.
> 
> A big thank you to my regular readers who love this crackship and also again, I apologize for deleting the story by accident.
> 
> I thought the song, "Drive" by The Cars fit the feel and the premise. I inserted the cover song from The Deftones, but if you don't know who actually sings the original check out The Cars. The original the song feels more like whispered inner thoughts while the cover from The Deftones lends a more confrontational feel. Chino Moreno's voice is great at wailing, but his softer singing voice is so haunting. I'm in love with the dude's vocals.


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